Beautiful Rush

by Rose, Emery

  I pocketed my phone as Killian pulled into a parking space by the hospital and cut the engine.

  We found the Ramsey’s in the waiting room and Faye, Cal, and Abby all gave me a hug before I made the introductions. Then we took our seats and we waited. We drank coffee that we bought at the vending machine and listened to Deacon stories that his family told. I loved hearing about Deacon as a kid and the little anecdotes they shared.

  Sometime during that horrible night of waiting and hoping and praying, I found peace. It wasn’t something I could explain or even understand, but I knew, in my heart that Deacon would be okay. I knew we would have our chance. I knew that life would not be so cruel as to take him away from all the people who loved him. I smiled at Faye who was sitting directly across from me and her smile matched mine.

  Fifteen minutes later, the doctor confirmed what we already knew. Deacon was in critical but stable condition. He was going to pull through. He’d been lucky, if you could call it that. The bullet hadn’t hit his heart.

  * * *

  I sat in the chair that Faye had just vacated and pulled it closer to Deacon’s bed, taking his hand in mine. He gave it a little squeeze.

  “Hey baby.” His voice was hoarse and raw from the tube that had been down his throat.

  I smiled. “Hey baby. You’ll do anything for a little attention.”

  He laughed then winced.

  “Oh God. Sorry. Don’t laugh. Shit. My bedside manner needs some work.”

  That made him laugh again which looked painful. I was such an idiot. This was my chance to say all those words I had wanted to say, to tell him everything I was scared I wouldn’t be able to. Instead, I just stared at him, at the tubes from the IV in his arm, at the hospital gown that covered up the stitches in his chest, the oxygen tubes in his nose. At his face, so pale beneath his tan. And it hit me all over again. Deacon had been shot and we had almost lost him. “Does it hurt?”

  “Can’t feel a thing. They’ve got good drugs in this place.” I tried to laugh, but it came out like a sob. He squeezed my hand again. “I’m okay. Got lucky.”

  Only Deacon would say that he’d gotten lucky after getting shot in the chest, although earlier I’d been saying the same thing, now the reality didn’t feel so lucky.

  “How is this lucky?”

  “Had my lucky stone in my pocket. Could have gotten shot in the junk. That would have been a real tragedy.”

  I laughed. “Oh my God. You’re crazy.” He smiled, his eyelids heavy like he was fighting sleep and trying to stay awake because I was here. “I should let you get some rest.”

  “Stay. Don’t leave me.”

  I swallowed hard. “I won’t leave you. I’ll be right here next to you. Get some sleep.”

  His eyes closed and I sat by his bedside and watched him sleeping, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, his heart still beating. I closed my eyes, letting all the emotions wash over me, the hours of waiting and worrying that he wouldn’t pull through. But he did. He was strong and he was a fighter and he was alive.

  “I love you,” I whispered.

  And then I let myself cry. Tears of gratitude and joy mingled with sadness and relief because I knew now that he was going to be okay and that somehow, some way, we would get through this together.

  25

  Deacon

  SIX WEEKS LATER

  It had been confirmed. Ivan Petrov was my biological father. While I was in the hospital, I had asked Casarico to send our DNA samples to the lab for testing. Better to know the truth than be forever wondering. It had been a match.

  Over the past weeks, I’ve had time to think about what that meant to me and had concluded that it didn’t mean much. Cal Ramsey was my real father. For twenty-one years, he had always been there for me. When I was a kid, he had disciplined me when I needed it, played catch with me in the backyard, helped me with my homework, attended every parent-teacher conference and had met with the school principal and guidance counselor more times than either of us would care to remember. He taught me how to treat a woman with respect. He taught me how to be a man. And through all the ups and downs and my rebellious teen years when I had acted out and he probably hadn’t liked me very much, he had still loved me. I never had to wonder or guess. Not only had he told me, he had shown me through his actions. I had gotten lucky. I had been chosen by parents who knew how to love and freely gave of themselves, despite not sharing any DNA.

  So Ivan Petrov wasn’t my real father. He was the sperm donor who felt like he’d done ‘the right thing’ by giving Natalya money for an abortion. I had dealt with all those emotions quickly and efficiently and, for the most part, I had moved on. I knew who I was, and I knew the kind of man I wanted to be. Ivan Petrov had no bearing on that whatsoever.

  I had made my peace with pulling the trigger and putting two bullets in Anthony Brennan. It had been self-defense and if there had been another way out, I would have taken it. Killing a man is not something I’m proud of. I don’t take it lightly. But I can live with it. I can look at myself in the mirror without flinching. I did what I had to do.

  I had found a way to put the shooting incident and the Ivan Petrov revelation behind me, but Keira had not.

  While I’d been recuperating, Keira had been living with me. Playing nurse. Fussing over me. Worrying about me. Her brow perpetually furrowed. She was scared, and if there was anything I hated more than seeing Keira sad or unhappy, it was seeing her scared. She had let her fears take over and they were starting to consume her.

  There had been countless nights when I’d woken up to find her staring at me in the darkness, her hand on my heart to ensure it was still beating. She was scared to lose me. Scared of the day when I would go back to work. Last week, in the middle of the night, I had felt her watching me.

  “Are you going to stare at me all night?” I asked, my eyes still closed.

  “Maybe.” She placed her palm on my heart. Over the scar on my chest. I opened my eyes and turned my head to look at her. She was on her side, her head propped up on her hand.

  “Why the Gang Squad? Tell them to assign you to traffic duty or something.”

  “Do you want me to die of boredom?”

  “That’s not funny,” she said darkly.

  “It’s my job, baby. What happened that night was not the norm.” I reeled off statistics of the likelihood of getting shot on the job. It was unlikely. “It’s more dangerous to be a logger than a cop.”

  But she wasn’t buying it and nothing I could say put her mind at ease.

  “Every time you walk out the door, I’m going to worry that you won’t come home.”

  I wanted to tell her that I would always come home to her, that nothing was going to happen to me. But I couldn’t make that kind of guarantee. Nobody could. You never knew when your time was up. “You can’t live in fear. That’s no way to live.”

  “You almost died, Deacon.”

  “But I didn’t. I’m still here, right next to you. Propped up on three of your downy pillows.” It was overkill. The air was thinner up here.

  “I’m trying to take care of you.”

  “And I appreciate that. But if you want to take care of me, move your hand lower.” I guided her hand to where I wanted it. “Forget the hand. I want to be inside you.”

  “I’m being serious.”

  “So am I. I need to be inside you.”

  “Remember how you felt when Eddie put that rock in my air valve? Multiply that by a thousand and you won’t even come close to feeling how I do. And remember how angry you were with me?”

  I remembered. I also remembered that my anger was mainly directed at myself for not putting a stop to those races. And that what had really made me angry was that she had lied to me. “That was different.”

  “You know what it is? A double standard. It’s okay for you to worry about me, but it’s not okay for me to worry about you.”

  “It’s not okay when it’s keeping you up nights. Or when
it’s making you scared to live, Keira.”

  I gave it some thought over the next few days. God knows I had plenty of time to sit around and think about shit. If it had been up to my mother and Keira, my ass would be planted on the sofa all day long, remote in hand until Keira returned home from work each evening. But I came up with a solution to the problem.

  My solution was unorthodox and a little bit crazy. To most people, it wouldn’t make sense, which made it perfect for us. “Do you miss street racing?” I asked her a few nights later over dinner—chili and cornbread that my mom had coached her through while she’d been cooking it. Unfortunately, Keira had gone off-piste and added chilies that were undoubtedly the hottest chilies on the planet. So I couldn’t tell you if the chili was any good or not. After the first bite, my taste buds were destroyed for two days. It was so spicy that my eyes teared up, my nose ran, and my lips blistered.

  “Is that a trick question? More Chili Diablo?” she asked, a wicked grin on her face.

  “It’s a yes or no answer. No to the chili. And I feel no compulsion to finish yours either.”

  “So it was a success,” she said with a smug smile. “And yes. But I promised not to do it anymore.”

  “What if there’s a way you can do it legally?”

  “Really? Where? How?” Her eyes lit up with excitement and that was how I knew it was the perfect solution.

  Which was how I ended up in the stands at a dragway in Jersey on a Wednesday night with her family.

  “Explain to me why the fuck you thought this was a good idea.” Killian scowled at the staging lanes where Keira was waiting for her turn to race. Every Wednesday the dragway hosted amateur races set up like a test-and-tune night. Cars had to be street legal and drivers had to show their license, registration, and car insurance and there was a special division for muscle cars, so it was perfect for Keira.

  “Racing makes her happy,” I said simply.

  “You’re a cop,” he growled.

  “Your point?”

  “My point is that six weeks ago we spent all night in a fucking hospital, not knowing if you were going to survive a gunshot wound. Keira was scared shitless and she was worried about you. She’s been through a lot and so have you. And you think drag racing is the answer?” He gestured at the two cars that zoomed past, the roar of their engines loud as they ate up the quarter-mile track. “I told her that she couldn’t outrun her past and now you decide that she can?” he asked incredulously.

  “I understand where you’re coming from. But this isn’t about outrunning her past. This is about living fearlessly.”

  “I think you’re missing the point,” Connor told Killian.

  Killian glared at him.

  “The point is that Deacon and Keira are both crazy which makes them perfect for each other,” Ava said, taking a bite of her churro dipped in melted chocolate.

  “Thanks,” I said, choosing to take that as a compliment.

  “Anytime, Detective McHottie.”

  I chuckled at the new nickname Ava had given me. “This is street legal drag racing,” I told Killian.

  “Next time we should tailgate,” Eden said.

  Ava high-fived her. “We’ll bring mocktails for you.” She elbowed Killian. “Cheer up, Killian. Keira will be fine. Although this DJ leaves something to be desired. Is that country music mixed with heavy metal?”

  “Must be drag racing music,” Connor said.

  “Drag racing isn’t safe,” Killian said.

  “Since when has anyone in this family played it safe?” Eden asked.

  Killian let out an exasperated sigh.

  “Everyone has to find their own ways to deal with shit,” Connor said. “This is theirs. Respect it.”

  “It’s good to see Keira happy,” Eden said, tucking her arm in Killian’s. “She looks more like Keira tonight.”

  Eden nailed it. Keira wasn’t built for the slow lane and when she sat around, worrying and letting her fears consume her, she lost that spark inside.

  I focused my attention on the black Charger and the girl behind the wheel. She drove around the water box and backed into it so only her back tires got wet then pulled forward just before the starting line and did a burnout. Like a fucking pro. Even through the smoke, I could see her smile.

  Nothing like doing a burn-out to make my girl as happy as a kid on Christmas Eve.

  “Damn,” Connor said. “That’s impressive.”

  The cloud of smoke the Charger emitted, and the machine-gun rumble of her engine revving was pretty impressive.

  Keira turned her head, looking for us in the stands. When she spotted us, right down in front, she gave us a big smile and a wave then blew me a kiss. I blew her a kiss right back. Someone snickered. Probably Ava. Keira pulled up to the starting line next to a Mustang Cobra and kept her eyes on the staging lights. Round amber floodlights counted down and then the green light flashed, and she was off like a shot.

  Her cheering section was loud and enthusiastic, and the race lasted for all of twenty seconds. It was over so quickly it was a blur and left very little time to worry about what could go wrong.

  Keira crossed the finish line, the victor, a half car length in the lead. The Mustang never stood a chance.

  “So this is your plan?” Killian asked, although he’d grudgingly admitted that Keira did good. And let’s face it, Killian had never been risk-averse. He just worried about the women in his life which I fully understood.

  I grinned. “We have mountains to climb. This is the first step.”

  Connor chuckled. “At this rate, you’ll be scaling that mountain in record time.”

  “We don’t mess around. We’ll be on our way down it by tomorrow,” I announced confidently. Possibly premature and cocky to assume that, but I had faith in Keira. I had faith in us. She was strong and resilient, and we would slay our demons together.

  “I’m guessing you’ll be there to hold her hand,” Connor said.

  “Every step of the way.”

  Ava clapped her hands together. “This is so exciting. I’m going to set up her social media accounts. Keira is going to be the hottest sensation on the drag racing circuit.”

  Connor and Killian groaned in unison. I laughed. Keira had already been talking about getting sponsors and a stock car on the drive to New Jersey and I was sure that after tonight’s performance, she would be talking about it all the way home.

  Ava gave me a little slug on the shoulder then winced. “Sorry. I keep forgetting you’re recovering from a gunshot wound.”

  “I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.” I kept telling Keira the same thing but every time I said it, she got pissed and told me I wasn’t taking my injuries seriously enough.

  “All of Keira’s followers are going to love you two together. I can see it now…the detective and the drag racer. The dream team.”

  “Babe, take it down a notch,” Connor said. “Social media is more dangerous than drag racing.”

  “You need to get over your issues with social media. Look what it did for Killian’s career. And Forever Ink.” Ava went on, pleading her case as we walked to the parking lot to wait for our drag racer to rock up.

  “How are you feeling?” Eden asked as I fell into step with her and Killian.

  “It’s all good. I got lucky.”

  “Just don’t scare us like that again.”

  “I’ll try my best.” My eyes lowered to her stomach. I couldn’t tell if she had a bump yet or not under her puffy down jacket. “How are you feeling?”

  Killian wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “I feel great. I got lucky. In fact, I get lucky every day. Sometimes two or three times a day.” She winked at Killian who shook his head and chuckled.

  We stopped by Killian’s Range Rover parked next to Connor’s Harley to wait for Keira. Ten minutes later, she roared into the parking lot.

  “Here comes Mario,” Ava said. “Have you fixed her speeding tickets yet? That’s one of the perks of being with a cop, r
ight?”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “What speeding tickets?”

  Ava slapped her hand over her mouth. “Forget I said anything.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Killian muttered.

  Keira hopped out of her car and threw herself into my arms. “Thank you. It was such a rush.”

  “I aim to please.”

  “Oh, you do, Batman. You please me very much.” I palmed her ass and lifted her up, her legs cinching around my waist, and crushed my mouth against hers. She kissed me, long and slow and dirty, and I forgot all about her speeding tickets.

  Kissing Keira Shaughnessy was yet another reason I was thankful to be alive.

  “Get a room,” Ava said.

  Breaking the kiss, Keira smiled at me as I set her on the ground. She turned her back to me and I wrapped my arms around her which prompted her to grind her ass against my crotch.

  “Keep it up and I’ll have to fuck you in the backseat,” I whispered in her ear.

  “Promise?”

  “Have a good trip to Virginia,” Eden said, pulling Keira into a hug.

  “Call if you need anything,” Connor said.

  After hugs were exchanged and the others left, I held out my hand and wiggled my fingers. “Hand over your keys, Buttercup.”

  “Nobody drives my Charger but me.”

  “How many speeding tickets do you have?”

  She narrowed her eyes and I gave her a smack on the ass. “Get your sweet ass in the passenger seat. I’ll show you some tactical driving skills and maneuvers.”

  “Ooh, sexy. I’m looking forward to that lesson.” She patted my pockets to make sure the stone was in my jeans pocket before handing over her keys. She was still superstitious. Still believed that the stone had protected me, although she’d never admit that. But Keira was back, her sass restored.

  “Are we really doing this tomorrow?” she asked on the drive home.